


sugar

by thefudge



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Escorts, Escort Service, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Past Abuse, ost: flatsound - my heart goes bum bum bum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 01:26:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19713490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: “Well?” Veronica asks, tilting her head to catch his eye. Yeah, the high road won’t pay for the rent and college tuition, won't pay for his dad’s medical bills either. He smiles the sad, indie boy smile she’s paying for. “You got yourself a deal.” Escort AU





	sugar

**Author's Note:**

> i promised yall two veronica fics for the summer and this is no. 1, which was inspired by a brilliant prompt from an anon on tumblr who wanted to see sugarmommy Veronica and honestly?? SAME.

The first thought that pops in his head when he sees her is, _this is a practical joke._

It’s gotta be.

No one looking like _that_ would need to pay for his mediocre services. 

But the young woman in the designer dress walks straight towards him, signalling with her smoky eyes and dark-lipstick smile that he is the one she’s been looking for.

Jughead feels like he’s entered the decadent backdrop of a noir film. He adjusts his plaid shirt awkwardly. 

“You must be Jughead,” she says by way of greeting, sitting down in the booth opposite him. Her perfume is dark bergamot with notes of juniper. He’s learned to catalog the scent of his clients by now. 

He makes a halfhearted effort to get up and shake her hand, but she waves him off.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

She surveys him with an inscrutable look. “That’s only your screen handle, though? Not your actual name?” Her dark eyelashes punctuate each word. 

He wonders if she was expecting him to look different. His profile pic is more boho-chic, sad-writer-boy type. The kind of shit you’d see on an Instagram collage complete with lake houses and firewood and typewriters. 

He opens his mouth, but she waivers his answer again. “No, I don’t suppose anyone’s real name is Jughead. Don’t worry, I’m not going to pry.”

He makes a mental note. _Bossy type_. 

“I won’t pry either, Veronica.”

“Oh, you may. I’m giving you my real name. It would be too much of a hassle to go with a nom de plume.” 

Jughead bites his lip and looks down. He can’t remember the last time he heard “nom de plume” used in casual conversations. 

“Do you want something to eat?” she asks, looking over her shoulder for their waitress. Her perfectly manicured nails tap against the formica table. 

“No, thank you. Let’s have some coffee on me,” he replies smoothly, because his absentee mother did teach him manners when she had the time. 

Veronica smiles thinly. “Aren’t I the provider in this relationship?”

“We haven’t discussed anything yet.”

“Please. I’d feel more comfortable if I ordered for the both of us.” She smiles as she looks at his skinny wrists on the table. “And you look like you could eat.” 

Jughead drops his hands. He underlines the mental note. _Extremely bossy._

That does fit the Sugar Momma profile. He cringes when he thinks about it. She definitely has an Old Hollywood vibe, refined and obsolete, but he can’t picture her clicking on the escort website, looking over all the profiles, and deciding on his scrawny ass. She’s way too young and self-assured to need the confidence boost that paying his bills would give her. 

“...and two chocolate milkshakes,” she finishes for the waitress with a fixed smile. She turns quickly to him. “You don’t mind chocolate, do you?”

No, he doesn’t. That’s actually his flavor. But something bothers him about the whole exchange.

He can’t put his finger on it.

As the waitress walks away he figures it out. She’s never done this before. _Obviously_. 

She’s nervous. This is her way of taking control. 

Veronica folds her arms over the table. “I know. You’re probably wondering why someone like me is... doing this. I realize it’s a little ridiculous.”

Jughead straightens up. He shakes his head. “It’s not. And you don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’m here to help you, any way I can.”

She stares out the fogged-up window briefly. “That’s nice. And I don’t mean to insult your profession. We all get by somehow. I respect that. I am luckier than most. I just - this isn’t what I _usually_ do, it’s not what I -”

Normally with shy clients he’d reach out and grab their hand and maybe run his fingers comfortingly over their palm.

But he feels that would be a bad move with her. He waits.

“Your description did say you are the soft, sensitive type. Let’s just say I’m tired of hard types.”

He doesn’t quite follow. Does she not know there are “soft types” out there in the real world, nice men who aren’t escorts? 

“So.” She turns her eyes back on him with steely determination. “This is the situation. I need a “plus one” for functions and social events, someone who isn’t part of my usual moneyed entourage, someone without a trust fund, someone I can have an intelligent conversation with over dinner and a movie. Someone I can rely on, a glorified friend, if you will. Someone who won’t embarrass me or complain when I can’t be there or put his ego before mine. Someone _different_. I...that’s why I selected you. Your credentials are good, and you have pretty good reviews too.” 

Jughead opens his mouth, but only a rush of warm air comes out. Those “pretty good reviews” were all in reference to his bedside manner, because he was a “gentleman”. When Archie told him girls like the “Beta Guy” personality he remembers scoffing. He’s not scoffing now. 

Veronica looks at him calmly, though her chest is having trouble keeping still. She goes on before she loses courage. 

“Plus, you listed _In Cold Blood_ as your favorite book and I happen to share your preference.” 

_Thank God for Truman Capote_ , he thinks in a daze. 

“I’ve drawn up a few prospective timetables with activities.” She removes a few neat charts from her Hermes purse and pushes them across the table. “I don’t need too much attention or affection, for that matter. Obviously you won’t be required to have sex, I would never do that to you. You don’t even have to kiss me. This is only provisional.”

Jughead blinks and everything comes back into focus, including that dark shade of lipstick. He feels like the hidden cameras will be revealed any moment now. 

He looks over the charts. _This is surreal._

He can’t keep his face neutral, which is what he ought to do.

“That’s - wow. You’ve thought of everything.”

“Almost everything. We still have some details to comb through, but it shouldn’t be too hard. I’m willing to move things around.”

Jughead swallows the dryness in his throat. He knows he should take the high road; he knows he should tell her that this isn’t fair to her. Yeah, this sounds like the ideal gig, easiest job in the world, in fact. But she wouldn’t be getting a whole lot out of it. The whole thing would be a paid vacation. Meanwhile, she could have what she wants for free. 

“Well?” Veronica asks, tilting her head to catch his eye.

Yeah, the high road won’t pay for the rent and college tuition, won't pay for his dad’s medical bills either. 

He smiles the sad, indie boy smile she’s paying for. “You got yourself a deal.” 

Veronica’s face lights up, even though she makes an effort to conceal it.

He feels like an asshole. But he always feels like an asshole in this line of work. Usually the clients, while not assholes, are selfish enough that he doesn’t feel too bad about it. It’s a win-win situation, they both get what they need, if not what they want. But this girl doesn’t need him like that. It’s...different and weird. 

“Great. We’ll get the paperwork out of the way and then we’ll establish some ground rules. Is that okay?”

She’s too polite for what she wants. Jughead pops a fry in his mouth. “I just have one question.”

“Shoot.”

“I know I said you don't have to explain yourself to me, and you _don't_ , but I'm curious..."

"Yes?"

He bites his lip. "Why _Sugar Mommas_? Why not go for regular escorts? You don't have to answer if you don't want to.” 

He expects her to get a little defensive, but she is surprisingly game. She even smiles. “Simple. Money is the language I understand. I trust it more because it’s honest.” 

It was true, “Sugar Mommas” spoiled their escorts with money and gifts because it was more sincere than entertaining the illusion of free love. 

Jughead nods. “I get it. You’ll always be the one in control with me, I promise.”

Veronica stiffens. 

Oops. Shouldn’t have said that.

She clears her throat. “This isn’t a fetish for me.”

_Oh, fuck._

“No, of course not,” he sputters, “I’m sorry, I - I only meant that you can trust me, I wasn’t implying-”

“It’s all _right_ ,” she says, a little too forcefully. “Let’s get started, shall we?” 

She takes out a pair of black-rimmed reading glasses. He shuts his mouth. 

The next hour is filled up with planning for the following weeks, revising timetables, signing duplicate contracts. All double checked by her lawyer, apparently. 

“Apologies for the rigmarole, I like to be precise,” she says once every few minutes.

She doesn't trust the establishment's policy, she needs additional terms, he can respect that. 

He keeps assuring her it’s fine and he’s happy to do it. 

And he’s not...lying.

He stares up at her when she’s not looking. He tells himself he’s just checking to see if she’s changed her mind, but he knows she won’t. 

No, it’s the damn glasses. Jughead has never been _that_ kind of guy, but there’s just something about the way she sometimes lets them slide down her nose and the way she opens her mouth and perches the ballpoint pen against her lower lip. 

Okay, maybe it’s more than just the glasses. 

Does she realize this whole set-up is kind of hot? Her librarian sternness, her attention to paperwork, her intricate rules and timetables? This is supposed to be _her_ fantasy, after all.

He checks himself. Nothing is going to happen, she made that clear. He doesn’t want anything to happen either. He’s _relieved_ nothing will, isn’t he? He rarely enjoys the job. He’s had to psych himself up many times in order to go through with it. It’s just, he would be a hypocrite not to acknowledge the client’s appeal. He’s been around beautiful women before, though not very many, but they were always older or strictly unavailable. Or their personality was as interesting as a tar pit. 

This one likes Capote, at least.

“All right, let’s go over the third clause. Wardrobe options." She lifts her eyes and looks over his 'extra in an Alanis Morissette music video' ensemble. "How do you feel about cravats?”

Jughead steels himself. Easiest gig in the world, right? 

“Love them.”


End file.
